A Shilling for Candles by Josephine Tey — Read

Marta Hallard, as befitted a leading lady who alternated between the St.

James's and the Haymarket, lived in the kind of apartment block which has deep carpet on the stairs and a cloistered hush in the corridors. Grant, climbing the stairs with weary feet, appreciated the carpet even while his other self wondered about the vacuum cleaning. The dim pink square of the lift had fled upward as he came through the revolving door, and rather than wait for its return he was walking the two flights. The commissionaire had said that Marta was at home: had arrived about eleven from the theater with several people. Grant regretted the people, but was determined that this day was not going to end without his obtaining some light on Christine Clay and her entourage. Barker had failed to find the lawyer, Erskine, for him; his man said he was suffering from the shock of the last three days and had gone into the country over Sunday; address unknown. ("Ever heard of a lawyer suffering from shock?" Barker had said.) So the matter which most interested Grant--the contents of Christine Clay's will--must wait until Monday. At the Yard he had read through the dossier--still, of course, incomplete--which they had gathered together in the last twelve hours. In all the five sheets of it Grant found only two things remarkable.